


The Worst Simulation

by ChiaRoseKuro



Series: Virtual Reality (Minus the Virtual) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Retail, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault, Bad Jokes, Confrontations, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Protectiveness, Romance, Roommates, Self-Discovery, Slice of Life, Texting, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaRoseKuro/pseuds/ChiaRoseKuro
Summary: As a fresh university graduate with a recommendation for post-graduate studies, Kenma's future is a bright one - if a little dull. Kenma's never minded though, not when he's made it through the past four years without many friends and with his gaming to keep him occupied. He has decent parents, an entertaining penpal and everything he needs to have a steady, uneventful life.All that changes when he gets an unexpected letter, though.And when Kenma dares to take a tentative step outside his comfort zone, forfeiting predictability for something a little more exciting in life... he may have lost his mind, but perhaps he'll regain his heart.( wherein Kenma inherits a video game store, bumps into Kuroo again, and discovers a little more about himself in a new chapter of his life )
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Kozume Kenma, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou & Kozume Kenma, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou, Hinata Shouyou & Kozume Kenma, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Series: Virtual Reality (Minus the Virtual) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803619
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24
Collections: HQ Mini Bang





	1. Can I get an assist?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this series AU for a while now - possibly half a decade, if not a little less - so I'm excited to finally get something up for it! Slice of Life is something I find very hard to write, but I hope everyone will enjoy this short-ish prequel to the main story. It's been something I've worked very hard on writing in the HQ mini-bang period so I've been looking forward to posting it up.
> 
> The rating will change as the story progresses, but the event that will earn this story its Mature rating is integral to the story and constitutes the 'hurt' in the 'hurt/comfort' tag - so if you're not interested in attempted assault or light-ish trauma recovery, then this is really not the story for you. The event that will earn this story its Explicit rating can be skipped, though, and a note will be made of it when the chapter's posted up. Still, if you're not interested in the HQ characters working various jobs in a mall, Kenma's generally introspective nature, a teacher-in-training's garbled attempts at representing retail work and whatever else you'd expect from a KuroKen slice of life story, then the 'back' button is at your disposal. Simply press that if you dislike the story, because I'm proud of what I wrote and will use any rude and unnecessary comments to keep my bed toasty in this unusually cold winter.
> 
> Special thanks to the lovely organizers of the HQ Mini-Bang for giving me the opportunity (and impetus) to complete this story, [Luka](https://twitter.com/LukasTreeHouse) for being my amazing art partner (her piece will be linked in Chapter 2's notes) and for her incredible support throughout the bang, [Suga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drowninginworkbutstill) and [Bideroo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bideroo) for looking over the story, and everyone who's had to sit through my whinging and bitching in the past few months as I cried my way through writing and editing this. It's been a hard but rewarding slog, so I hope everyone else enjoys this as much as I've grown to enjoy seeing a new side to our cast!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “Oh _no_ you don’t,” Kuroo dramatically declares, even as he fishes out his own phone with his free hand. “We have four years to catch up on, Kenma!”
>> 
>> “And you think snatching someone’s phone is the first step to reconnecting?”
>> 
>> “We invited him to tea and had a chat, Tsukki—what do you want to do next, throw him an unbirthday party?”
> 
>   
> Of strange tidings, old friends and new experiences—not necessarily in that order. 

* * *

The letter arrives on a balmy spring day, barely a week after Kenma graduates with very little fanfare, and his mother almost opens it before she notices it’s addressed to him. After all, who would send him a _letter_ in this day and age?

Because, really, emails exist. _Instant messaging_ exists, so getting a letter from his…

“Second cousin once removed?” Kenma’s mother hums, turning from the newspaper she’s reading to give him a shrug. “Don’t look at me like that,” she sighs at whatever expression’s on Kenma’s face, “I never talked much to him.”

_He never talked much to **anyone** in the family, _Kenma’s half-certain he hears his mother mutter, but he doesn’t bother deigning that with a response. It’s not as though it solves the mystery of just _why_ his mother’s… _relative_ has addressed a letter to him, after all.

So as much as he wants to go back to playing _Animal Crossing: New Horizons_ , Kenma sets aside his console and fingers the envelope. His name and address are written in a bold hand, flourishes that speak of a man who probably had more self-confidence than most, and—

_Less psychoanalysis, more action,_ Kenma tells himself, and slits the envelope open.

What he finds inside is… peculiar, to say the least.

What falls out first is a well-furnished keyring with keys of various shapes and sizes—the largest is almost longer than his hand while the shortest is half the length of his pinkie. Kenma hisses at the cold metal against his fingers and then startles at its loud clanging when it hits his table, but he soon forgets about them in light of the letter peeking from the envelope.

Or letters, as it turns out, because there’s more than one sheaf of paper inside. The first is written in the same bold handwriting as the envelope, but the second is…

_This is the will and testament of Kazama Arata,_ is the first thing Kenma reads, and he barely manages to make it through the letter before he sets it down with ice-cold hands.

“So what did cousin Arata have to say?” his mother asks some minutes later. “I doubt there was much of interest in that letter—”

“He’s dead,” Kenma replies without a single waver in his voice, “and he gave me his video game store.”

“Oh—say that again?”

“My… relative,” Kenma says—it’s not as though the exact relations matter anymore, “willed his video game store to me.”

“Well,” his mother says after a brief moment of silence, “you could put your business degree to use managing it.”

Kenma’s helpless to do anything but snort at that.

It’s not really that funny, but what else can Kenma do in the face of his mother’s bland words? Maybe somebody else would berate her for her callousness or break down for a relative they’d never met—but Kenma’s always taken after her temperament, for all that his looks are his father’s.

A few steady breaths, a lick of his lips, and Kenma smooths out the will before he picks up the second letter. He doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s turned back to her newspaper, curiosity sated with what little information he’s provided.

But _his_ hasn’t been sated yet, and the second letter— _deed_ , really—doesn’t really do it either. Kenma’s distant uncle had rambled on about providing _a guiding light to today’s youths_ and _forging a path of fulfilment in these troubled times_ in the latter half of his will, and Kenma had _almost_ smiled at it. Almost, because it’s just as ludicrous as it’s hilarious—and they’re the words of a dead man.

And now, apparently, he owns a dead man’s video game store—keys and deed and all.

For all that his mother suggests otherwise, the easiest solution would be to sell it. He still has an offer from his professor tucked into his graduation folder— _in case you’d like to capitalize on your talent_ , she’d said with a crinkle in his eyes as he’d mumbled his thanks—and he’d never put it away. Even now, the graduation folder peeks out from beneath his relative’s will, but…

A video game store or a Master’s degree? Kenma had shaved half a year off his undergraduate degree and _still_ managed to graduate with honours, but a general business degree can only get him so far. This, though—this was a management opportunity that’d fallen right into his lap. Easy money, all dressed up in somewhat macabre garb—

Yet here he is, _dithering_ over his options.

Perhaps the choice would be easier for someone else. Hinata would _throw_ himself at the video game store—and just _imagining_ his penpal’s wide-eyed enthusiasm at _discounted games_ and _quick cash_ is enough to make Kenma huff out soft laughter—and Kuroo…

_Kuro doesn’t matter. Kuro’s not **here**._

Kenma places the second letter on the table with hands that don’t shake, smooths out the paper until each third lies flat, and gets up from his seat.

“Going out?” his mother asks as Kenma slips the set of keys into a backpack and stuffs his phone into a pocket. “Make sure you’re back for dinner, then.”

“Mm,” Kenma replies, and leaves his mother to her newspaper as he shuffles out the door.

It’s not like it’d hurt to look at the place first, right?

_And I can always show Hinata pictures of the game store,_ Kenma tells himself, and very carefully ignores the other starred contact on his phone as he pulls it out and fires off a quick text to his penpal.  
  


* * *

  
A train, two buses and far too much sunlight later, Kenma finds himself squinting up at a fairly non-descript shopping mall. It would’ve taken half as long to get here if he’d gotten his driver’s license on time—and had a _car_ to drive, on top of that—but then there would’ve been the issue of parking and parking tickets, not to mention all the associated fees that came with a car. Then there’d be the perils of driving, obeying speed limits and possible instances of road rage, and—

_An hour via public transport isn’t too bad,_ Kenma tells himself, and shuffles into the mall.

It’s sleek on the inside, far sleeker than its exterior would suggest. Kenma cranes his head up and counts about four floors, refreshingly open with its empty middle instead of cramped in its efforts to maximize retail space, but the nearest lift boasts five floors—the fifth, according to a handy guide, is a cinema. He fishes out the letter and heads to the escalators instead, passing by what looks to be the mall’s help desk and a food court, and eventually finds the video game store on the second.

The video game store—and what looks to be an internet café connected to it.

_Nice_ , Kenma thinks, and goes about unlocking the door.

The alarm is a little _less_ nice, but a bit of panicked fumbling and button-mashing solves the problem before anyone really notices.

It’s clear that the store hasn’t been open for a while, though—there’s enough dust to surprise a sneeze out of him, and Kenma spares a thought for his relative as he goes about fumbling for the lights. It’s nothing special as far as layout goes, with its empty game cases lining the walls and a handful of free-standing displays showcasing gaming merchandise. There are two trolleys for pre-owned games too, all neatly sorted by console and then alphabetical order, but it’s the unobtrusive door beside the checkout at the back that Kenma finds himself drifting to.

That, he quickly discovers, is the only entrance-exit to the internet café, and it takes more fumbling before white lights illuminate the ten computers inside. It takes far too long for Kenma to pull himself away from the gaming keyboards and polished modems—clearly, his relative had prioritized quality over quantity for his internet café—and he’s already making plans to… _test_ them at a later date.

It’s not as though he has to make an _immediate_ decision about his relative’s store, right?

_Right,_ Kenma thinks, and hums as he takes a few pictures of the store.

For all that Hinata’s _meant_ to be concentrating in class, Kenma’s barely sent him a brief explanation and a few images before he’s received a response. **u mean all dis is urs???** is the enthusiastic reply he gets, followed by sparkly-eyed emojis that makes Kenma muffle soft huffs into his sleeve, but it’s very clear that he’s pegged Hinata’s response accurately enough.

**I might sell it & go back to uni**, Kenma sends instead.

**boooooooo** , Hinata’s quick to reply, and Kenma can already _see_ his pouty, puffy-cheeked disapproval.

He’s just received a notification for a message, in fact, when a shadow falls across his phone. Kenma glances up, the corners of his mouth tugging down into a vague frown, but—

“Kenma?” the shadow’s owner asks, and Kenma blinks up at the last person he’d expected to see here.

Messy black hair, sleepy narrowed eyes and almost half a head of height on him…

“Oh,” Kenma mumbles. “Hello, Kuro.”

And as Kuroo blinks down at him before his mouth stretches into a wide grin, Kenma’s stomach drops silently to the floor.  
  


* * *

  
“Man, I thought old man Kazama had gone on a holiday,” Kuroo sighs, leaning back into his rickety plastic chair and tilting his head at the ceiling. “Can’t really say I didn’t see it coming, though—the guy partied like he was someone _our_ age.”

“I think his parties would’ve been livelier than yours,” Tsukishima lightly replies. “I doubt you could’ve kept up with his energy.”

“Says the guy whose karaoke score’s consistently lower than mine!” Kuroo exclaims, and guffaws over Tsukishima’s loud _tch_.

Kenma watches them bicker over the iced tea clutched between his hands, fringe falling unchecked into his eyes—but even now, minutes after he’d followed behind Kuroo and let him relock the store behind them, he _still_ can’t parse the current situation. How long had it been since he’d seen Tsukishima, back when they’d been in the same university club? And then, of course, there’s Kuroo.

_Kuro_.

“—good to see you again, you know,” Kuroo’s saying to him. “How long has it been… three years?”

“Four and a half,” Kenma replies before he can stop himself.

“Scathingly accurate as always, huh?” Kuroo laughs, and Kenma shrinks lower in his seat even as Kuroo shoots him a lopsided grin.

It’s easy, even after all this time, to glare over his cup and then look to the nearest person available—and though he’d never talked much with Tsukishima before, their shared glances are commiserating enough. With the ambient noise from the food court flowing around them and his backpack a solid weight against his leg, it’s _too_ easy to forget they’re no longer in high school anymore.

Kenma had changed his phone, purposefully forgotten the location of Kuroo’s new place of residence when he’d moved out—but what did that matter in the end?

“Kenma?” Kuroo asks. “You look a little scary there.”

“Says the one whose personal hygiene has scared every interested person away,” Tsukishima snorts before Kenma can respond, and the smirk on his face only grows with Kuroo’s dramatically wounded protests.

They haven’t changed much since the last time Kenma saw them—Kuroo’s a little more obnoxious and Tsukishima’s a little more blatantly derisive, but it’s not as though they’re unrecognisable. The biggest change, he thinks, are the uniforms and their relationship.

Is it friendship or friendly antagonism? Kenma glances between them, gaze drinking in Kuroo’s lazy smirks and the micro-emotions flitting across Tsukishima’s face with every argument he won or lost, and tightens his hold on his iced tea.

He thinks he’d mind all this a lot less if Kuroo had just been shopping in the complex—but he’s a mall cop. Kuroo’s this _mall’s_ mall cop, someone Kenma might bump into more often than not if he decides to keep the video game store, and just the _thought_ of seeing him more often is enough to make his gut clench.

It’s not as though he dislikes Kuroo—not in the same way Tsukishima clearly does, if the way he sneers and insults is anything to go by. It’s just…

“Sorry for the wait, Tsukki!” an unfamiliar voice calls, and Kenma’s wrenched from his thoughts when the mall receptionist jogs up to their table. “You haven’t been teasing Kuroo for too long, have you?”

“You say this like I can’t stand up to big, bad _Tsukki_ on my own,” Kuroo huffs.

That, somehow, is enough to make Kenma snort into his tea.

It also gets the attention of the receptionist—Yamaguchi, he introduces himself as with a shy little smile and a surprisingly firm handshake—and it’s not long before there’s another person sitting down at their table.

Perhaps they could’ve continued like this for a while longer, Kuroo and Tsukishima sniping back and forth while Yamaguchi laughed and Kenma watched on. It’s almost like high school all over again, Kuroo bothering Taketora while Yaku and Lev spectated with Kenma on the side, but it’s clear that almost nothing’s changed for Kenma.

Four years apart, and _still_ he can’t help noticing every word his former best friend said.

And when he scrapes his chair against the floor as he stands, almost-empty takeaway cup slightly crushed in his tight grip, Kenma glances down at his bag as he mumbles, “I’m going home.”

“Already?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma catches the briefest glimpse of wide eyes and arched brows before he glances back down at his bag again.

“Well, it _is_ getting dark,” Yamaguchi points out. “You don’t really live around here—do you, Kenma?

“I’ve never seen you here before,” Yamaguchi explains with a shrug when Kenma starts and glances up at him. “But this is a nice mall, and Kazama-san’s store had some pretty brisk business before… well.”

“It’d be nice if there were _certain_ people who didn’t work here,” Tsukishima mutters under his breath, so quietly that Kenma almost doesn’t hear it—but then he gets to his feet with a huff and says, “It was good seeing you again, Kozume-san.”

It’s likely nothing more than a formality rather than a heartfelt sentiment, but Kenma lets himself smile at Tsukishima nonetheless. “I’ll see you around,” he quietly offers, nodding and turning away—

But then a hand whips his phone right out of Kenma’s hand.

“Oh _no_ you don’t,” Kuroo dramatically declares, even as he fishes out his own phone with his free hand. “We have four years to catch up on, Kenma!”

“And you think snatching someone’s phone is the first step to reconnecting?”

“We invited him to tea and had a chat, Tsukki—what do you want to do next, throw him an unbirthday party?”

Kenma snorts again, even as he fights to keep his scowl on his face and snatch his phone out of Kuroo’s hand—but it’s not long before Kuroo hands it back to him. “Keep in contact, yeah?” Kuroo says as he does so, gaze surprisingly heavy for all that his body language is relaxed, and…

It would be so easy—so much _simpler_ —to make an empty promise. Kuroo once knew him better than anyone beyond his _parents_ , but it’s been four years and an entire university degree since Kenma last talked with Kuroo. He’s observant and wily, a combination that Kenma would’ve once feared, but there’s only so much observing he can do if Kenma never returns.

There’s only so much he can do if Kenma passes on the video game store and goes back to university for his Master’s, but…

“Sure,” Kenma offers as casually as he can, and keeps his expression neutral when Kuroo’s splits into a grin. “I’ll block you if you spam me,” he threatens, “or call me in the middle of the night.”

“That was _one_ time,” Kuroo whines, even as Tsukishima coughs **_someone_** _can’t count_ into his fist, and it takes an extra three minutes before Kenma and Yamaguchi manage to break up their squabble.

“Don’t get mugged by strangers, Kenma!” Kuroo calls as Kenma _finally_ leaves, uncaring of the stares he attracts as he waves his arms above his head and grins wide enough to force his eyes shut—

And though Kenma knows better, _knows_ that any response is far worse than no response at all—he raises a hand with the faintest of smiles and turns before he can see Kuroo’s response.  
  


* * *

  
“You’ve been pretty busy lately, haven’t you?”

Kenma starts at the sudden question, eyes widening and phone almost dropping out of his hands, but his father huffs out a laugh from the other side of the dining table. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask what it’s about,” his father adds with a smile, “but no matter how busy you are, young man, you’d better make sure you keep eating properly!”

“Sure,” Kenma mumbles after a few moments, hunching further into his seat as he tucks his phone away, but his father only laughs again before he leaves with his empty plate. It’s not long until Kenma’s following suit, plate picked clean in his usual meticulous fashion, but his father’s words linger long after his meal.

_I haven’t exerted myself much,_ Kenma had wanted to protest—but could he really say that after all the visits he’d paid to the store? Sitting behind the counter and running his hands along the polished surface, taking all the computers on a test drive that’d seen him spend an entire day at the mall…

And that wasn’t mentioning all the run-ins he had with Kuroo and Tsukishima on top of that. If there were other guards at the mall, then Kenma had the unenviable misfortune of never seeing them.

Kenma’s phone vibrates at the thought, as though just _thinking_ about Kuroo was curse enough to summon him—and when he unlocks it with swift fingers, there’s a new cat video from Kuroo. **The cat looks like you** , Kuroo offers as though Kenma can’t see a preview of the little calico cat with cream fur and scattered black patches, and he shakes his head as he sends an unamused cat emoji back.

It’s not the cat video that bothers Kenma, though. It’s not even the fact that Kuroo’s messaging him, even if every alert titled **[Stupid Kuro]** causes his stomach to turn.

It’s the messages he sends back, the requests for lives that Kuroo grants within minutes and dry little comments that Kuroo reacts to with comments of his own. It’s the traitorous _warmth_ that seeps into his fingers and toes when Kuroo responds, like they hadn’t spent the past four and a half years apart, and it’s…

_Annoying_ , Kenma first thinks, but that’s not quite right. _Stupid_ , he thinks next, and that settles a little better in his roiling stomach as he checks over his email draft one last time.

Because it’d be easier to go back to university and let someone else more passionate about finance and management and gaming handle his relative’s store. It’d be more sensible—more _productive_ , even—but where is all his lauded caution now, when he’s sending off a _rejection_ to his ex-professor?

He’d discussed it with his parents before he’d drafted the message, stared down at his hands as he’d quietly but succinctly outlined the pros and cons of his final decision. _It’s good practical experience and a sizeable income,_ Kenma’s mother had told him when he was done, _even if you don’t have a higher education degree._ His father had been even more straightforward, pleased that Kenma’s hobby could be more cheaply supplemented as the manager of a game store—

But before he’d thanked them for their insight and returned to his room, his father had looked him in the eye and told him, “So long as you’re happy, then we’re happy.”

_Am I happy?_ Kenma asks himself as he confirms the email’s been sent and powers off his desktop.

It seems straightforward if Kenma doesn’t think too deeply about it—studying had been _boring_ , endless hours spent poring over fiscal policies and transaction analyses, and running a video game store couldn’t possibly be worse than that. Hinata, at least, would be entertained enough for the both of them when he eventually pays Kenma a visit.

This isn’t Hinata’s life, though. This is _Kenma’s_ life, _Kenma’s_ hands that had decisively closed one door so he could keep another open, and even now…

He switches off the lights, crawls beneath the covers and stares at the wall until the sun rises again.  
  


* * *

  
Kuroo knocks on the side of the door frame as Kenma swipes at the stray hairs sticking to his forehead, all smiles until Kenma scowls up at him. “ _So,_ ” he drawls slowly, glancing around the newly-mopped floor and dust-free shelves, “you’re gonna open soon, huh?”

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” Kenma mutters under his breath, dragging his bandanna off his head and retying it with jerky motions, but says in a slightly louder voice, “I guess.”

It takes a few moments for Kuroo to stop narrowing his eyes at him, but he eventually shrugs and says, “Will you be okay commuting back and forth from home? You’d save a lot of time if you moved out, you know.”

_You’re not my mother,_ Kenma swallows down, and takes a moment to breathe around his stomach churning before he mumbles, “I know.”

Because he _does_ know, even without Kuroo’s helpful reminder. For all that Kenma doesn’t have to pay for anything beyond than his internet usage when he’s living with his parents, it’s still two hours wasted on commutes and a small fee either way. It’s two hours spent squeezing with other commuters during peak hour, unless he convinces the mall to open and close at different times, and it’s…

“Move in with me.”

Kenma’s staring down at his hands, brows furrowing the slightest bit from all the thoughts racing through his head, but his head snaps up at Kuroo’s unexpected offer. “Don’t look at me like _that,_ ” Kuroo laughs at whatever expression’s on Kenma’s face, raising his hands in a placating gesture, but he doesn’t take back his words.

Kenma stares for so long that Kuroo fidgets in place, smile weakening as his hands lower, but—

“You want me,” Kenma slowly says, “to move in with you.”

“I mean, my housemate moved out a while back, and having you move in is easier than paying the rent on my own,” Kuroo replies with a shrug that even _Kenma_ can tell is a little tense. “We’ve been on camps together, right?” he adds when Kenma stays silent. “It’ll be like that, but you’ve got a room to yourself. We’ll split the bill and the chores—it’s pretty small, but it’s cheaper than most because it’s a little old, and—”

“You’re rambling, Kuro.”

“And your head looks like a pudding, Kenma.”

Kuroo’s response is so dry that Kenma huffs before he can help himself, hiding his smile in the crook of an elbow as Kuroo rolls his eyes at him. His stomach’s roiling just as much as it always is whenever he gets a message from Kuroo—but he can _see_ the way Kuroo’s eyes are a little tight. There’s tension in his loosely balled hands that remind him of the scruffy-haired kid who’d half-hid behind his mother all those years ago, and…

“I’ll move out once I find someplace cheaper,” Kenma mumbles, lowering his gaze to his hands. “And if you steal any of my consoles, I’ll spray you with cold water.”

“What am I, an unruly overgrown cat?”

But for all the offense in his tone and the wounded frown tugging at his lips, Kuroo’s eyes are brighter than ever when Kenma sneaks a glance at him. His whole _body_ seems to glow when he begins chatting about its location and makes plans for Kenma’s move, spurred on by whatever plan’s in his head while Kenma hums and nods along, and it’s so very Kuroo that he almost needs to smother another smile.

“I’ll text you later!” Kuroo tells him when he finally leaves Kenma to tidy up his cleaning equipment and restock the shelves, waving back distractedly as he shrugs on his jacket and ambles off to work. “And I’ll send you those lives,” he adds before Kenma can open his mouth, “so you’d better watch that video I’m gonna send you!”

“It’d better not be that video you’ve sent me _ten times already_ , Kuro,” Kenma hisses in the wake of Kuroo’s laughter, but there’s the faintest of smiles on his lips when he turns back to his restocking.

_Just a week or two,_ Kenma tells himself. _Find a place for yourself, move out, and leave everything settled this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn't catch it, here are the introduced characters' occupations:  
>  **Kozume Kenma** \- owner of the 2nd floor video game store  
>  **Kuroo Tetsurou** \- mall cop  
>  **Tsukishima Kei** \- mall cop  
>  **Yamaguchi Tadashi** \- part-time mall receptionist  
>  **Hinata Shouyou** \- senior high student


	2. I Demand a Refund!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “For the fifth time, Kuro—I’ll be _fine_.”
>> 
>> “But it’s dark outside—”
>> 
>> “And you call _me_ a mother.”
> 
>   
> Of new routines, timely interferences and unwelcome feelings—all with a complementary lounge cat. 

“ _So what’s it like in Tokyo?_ ” Hinata asks, screen an orange blur from how much he’s vibrating in his seat. “ _Is there crime, like, **all** the time? Are the lights **always** on?!_”

“I lived in Tokyo _before_ I moved, Shouyou,” Kenma huffs back, but there’s the slightest of smiles on his face. From the way Hinata abruptly stops moving and blushes, though, it’s clear that he can’t sense the gentle teasing in Kenma’s tone.

Still, Hinata’s voice is mostly steady as he puffs his cheeks out and says, “ _Anyhow, tell me what your store’s like!_ ”

“Haven’t you already seen the pictures and read my messages?”

“ _Yeah, but that doesn’t tell me what it’s **like**._”

Kenma barely manages to swallow back his laughter when Hinata’s cheeks puff out even _more_ , eyes narrowed and brows scrunched absurdly low, but he leans back in his seat and asks, “Why don’t you come over and find out for yourself?”

Hinata’s eyes fly wide open, cheeks deflating a sudden _pop_ that very nearly startles a snort out of Kenma—but Hinata slumps down moments later. “ _I **can’t** ,_” Hinata whines, and Kenma can almost _see_ puppy ears drooping atop Hinata’s curly hair. “ _I wanna go visit you and meet all your friends—but even if I didn’t have to take care of mum while Natsu’s at summer camp, I think she might actually **kill** me if I flunk senior year!_”

“And with your current scores…”

“ _I would’ve passed Literature, Kenma!_ ” Hinata wails, burying his head in his folded arms. “ _If it wasn’t for those **stupid** multiple-choice bubbles…!_”

“There, there,” Kenma tells him, and Hinata responds with another wordless wail.

Kenma finally gives into the urge to laugh, soft huffs that make Hinata sniffle and glare into the camera with pouted lips, but there’s the faintest hint of laughter in Hinata’s eyes. It’s the first video call they’ve done since Kenma moved two weeks ago, and chatting with his friend is… nice.

Certainly nicer than the sudden slam of his door when Kuroo flings it open, yelling, “Is that Chibi-chan? I thought you said I could talk to him this time!”

“And I thought _I_ said you couldn’t enter my room unless you’ve showered!” Kenma yells right back, eyes narrowed as he swivels to glare at Kuroo.

There’s a moment when Kuroo almost looks like he’ll make his way inside anyway, dirty uniform and all—but then he rolls his eyes and begins pulling the door shut again.

“ _Such_ a mother hen, I swear,” Kuroo bemoans, but it’s not long before he heads out and closes the door behind himself.

“Stupid Kuro,” Kenma mutters under his breath, turning back to what he’d been doing before—

But then there’s laughter in his ears, from the video call he’d momentarily _forgotten_ , and Hinata’s all smiles as he says, “ _You never told me you were rooming with **Kuroo-san** , Kenma_.”

“Does it matter?” Kenma asks in his most disinterested voice, but the way Hinata laughs makes it clear that it’s not disinterested enough. “It’s just temporary,” he adds with a little scowl, unconsciously hunching his shoulders as Hinata’s eyebrows rise. “I promised I’d find someplace else to live.”

“ _But it’s not like **Kuroo-san** is terrible, apart from the whole_—”

“ _Shouyou_.”

“— _lack of personal space_ ,” Hinata continues without batting a lash—or, at least, until he leans in and lets his smile grow. “ _What, did you think I was gonna say something else?_ ”

Kenma glances into his camera, glances back to his mouse, and quietly says, “Goodbye, Shouyou.”

It only takes a second before Hinata’s yelling, “ _Wait, don’t hang up yet, you never told me about your store!_ ”

“And you think I should tell you after all your teasing?”

“ _But you’re happier here, aren’t you?_ ”

Kenma’s hand freezes, cursor nowhere near the ‘end call’ button, but Hinata continues with an earnest, “ _It’s kinda like a long sleepover, right? And Kuroo-san’s your childhood friend, isn’t he? I mean, living with my mum and Natsu is nice, but—I think it’s cool that you can live with your friend!_ ”

_It’s not as simple as you think,_ Kenma wants to say. _Kuro and I grew up._

But with Hinata’s bright smile and genuinely _happy_ expression lighting up the screen…

“I think I’d have more fun living with you,” Kenma eventually settles on, and smiles as Hinata leaps out of his chair with a loud crow.  
  


* * *

  
Living with Kuroo isn’t _bad_ , as far as bad roommates go—the rent is cheap, the chores are evenly split between their preferences, and Kenma mostly gets his room to himself. There are stray cats that visit their balcony on occasion, lingering for pats that inevitably draw in _other_ strays, and the amenities are usable. The soundproofing between the apartments works. The location is convenient, if in a poorer district than Kenma’s childhood home.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the apartment itself is adequate and that Kuroo, on occasion, is adequate too.

But as Bokuto cackles on his right and Kuroo follows suit on his left, one of Kuroo’s wiry arm slung over Kenma’s shoulders with careless abandon, Kenma finds it difficult to see the apartment as _his_. It’s only a temporary solution at best, but even so…

Kenma hunches further into himself and jabs an elbow into Kuroo’s side, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled down into a visible frown. It’s just providence that Kuroo gasps, pitches forward and falls off the couch—right in front of Terushima, who laughs and prods him with his big toe.

“Hey hey, Kuroo, you’re gonna give yourself a concussion like that!” Bokuto shouts, cutting himself off mid-laugh to peer at Kuroo’s groaning form. “Aren’t you meant to be protecting everyone else?”

“Looks like you’re not as suave as you always pretend to be, huh?” Terushima snorts, and pokes Kuroo again when he opens his mouth to protest.

Kenma shrinks further into the couch as Kuroo drags Terushima off the armchair, Bokuto practically leaning into his _lap_ to egg the two on, but there’s a pale hand reaching out to tug Bokuto back. “Please watch where you’re leaning, Bokuto,” a mild voice says, and Kenma looks up in time to see Akaashi smile faintly at him.

Kuroo is hardly adequate and his friends are anything _but_ —but Kenma nods back at Akaashi and stands when Bokuto’s scooted off his lap with wide-eyed apologies. “I’ll spray you with water if you follow me,” he tells Kuroo, and leaves to the sound of Kuroo’s squawk and his friends’ snickers.

“Your new roommate’s a feisty one—let’s keep him!” Kenma hears as he pads into the kitchen, but whatever Kuroo says in response is drowned out by the sound of the kettle boiling.

“Tea?” Akaashi offers when it’s done making a ruckus, dangling a teabag from one hand, and Kenma hesitates before nodding.

Terushima is loud and Bokuto is _louder_ , but Akaashi is quiet—so quiet, in fact, that Kenma almost forgets he’s there at all. He’s nothing like Kuroo’s friends, with his cutting politeness and passion for books, but… Kenma’s _glad_ , for whatever definition of the word he means, that Akaashi’s so at ease in Kuroo’s apartment. It makes it easier to examine whatever’s growing between them when Akaashi’s always in close, easy contact.

It makes it easier still to connect with someone that Kenma might someday call a _friend_.

Because they hadn’t been, back when they’d shared university classes. Kenma remembers someone he would’ve called a distant acquaintance at best, one that mostly revolved around sharing notes and sitting together for group discussions, and they’d never swapped contact details before Akaashi had dropped out. He’d never imagined that the bookstore on the same floor as his video game store was run by someone he’d known—for whatever definition of the word worked—but…

Akaashi’s known Kuroo for longer, _definitely_ knows Bokuto more intimately—and hadn’t _that_ been a sight, when Kenma had first caught Bokuto passionately kissing Akaashi in the _living room_ —but it’s easy to talk with Akaashi. It’s easy to sit in companionable silence, sipping tea while Akaashi works on his manuscript and Kenma waits for his save file to load on his console.

It’s not like his unlikely but easy camaraderie with Hinata or the fleeting connections he made back in high school and university.

_But whatever it is,_ Kenma thinks as his game finally loads, _it’s easier than what I have with Kuro._

It makes it easier, after that, to set his game aside when Akaashi slides a book in front of him—and easier still to bury his face in it when Kuroo tries to drag him out to karaoke with _his_ friends.  
  


* * *

  
Unfortunately, Kuroo is just as irritating and persistent as Kenma remembers him to be.

“C’mon, Kenma,” Kuroo cajoles for the millionth time, propping an elbow on the counter and leaning over with a winsome smile—or what _Kuroo_ probably thinks is winsome, anyway. “It’ll be fun, I promise! Teru’s got a nice voice, Oikawa’s less of an asshole once you get him drunk enough—”

“And I’ll temporarily lose my hearing halfway through because you’re all screaming into the mic,” Kenma dryly interjects, glancing up from the ledger with slightly raised brows, “so it won’t matter either way, will it?”

“You really _are_ feisty these days,” Kuroo bemoans dramatically, feigning a swoon—but it’s enough to make Kenma’s lips twitch.

He could say what he liked about Kuroo—his erstwhile childhood friend, the current source of an oncoming headache—but at the end of the day…

“You’re just dramatic,” Kenma replies, and sweeps his gaze over the store while Kuroo fake-sobs.

It’s been a fairly slow half-day, as far as the business goes. There’s only one person in the internet café, someone Kenma’s almost _certain_ is meant to be at school, and a few people had wandered in and out before Kuroo had parked himself by the counter—but slow also means _easy_ , and Kenma nods at the young woman by the Nintendo games.

There aren’t memberships or yearly subscriptions, nothing much that would complicate the running of the store—but when Kuroo saunters out to clock in for his shift, Kenma finds himself sighing. There’s little to do beyond reorganizing the second-hand games and taking stock when he’s on shift, not when he can’t take a break as the only employee in the store, and it’s… surprisingly _boring_.

Or, at least, until a middle-aged man marches up to the counter and slams an obviously used game in front of him.

“I _demand_ a refund,” the man spits, before Kenma can open his mouth for his usual welcome spiel. “I’ve been waiting _months_ for this store to open again— _months_ , I tell you—and I want my money back for this… this _defective_ rip-off!”

It’s all too tempting to wipe his face and ignore the man until he behaves himself—but who else can deal with him when Kenma’s the only one there? _If only Kuro were here to deal with it,_ Kenma spares a fleeting moment to think, but then he pastes a smile on his face and makes eye contact with him.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Kenma asks, running his fingers over the dented and scratched casing. The CD, to his complete and utter unsurprise, is in a similar state of disrepair.

“Like I _said,_ ” the man snaps, slapping his hand down beside the defective CD, “the game’s _fucked_. It doesn’t work because you sell this sort of trash to hard-working consumers like _me_ —”

“And so you’d like a refund,” Kenma says without a single fluctuation in his voice. “Receipt, please?”

It’s obvious that he’s blustering—Kenma’s checked all their stock in the weeks leading up to the store’s reopening, poring over his relative’s records and cross-checking his stock until Kuroo had practically _dragged_ him out of the storeroom, and everything had been in pristine condition. “I’ll see what I can do for you once I’ve double-checked our sales records,” Kenma adds, smile in place but eyes utterly disinterested as he looks up, and the man rather audibly grinds his teeth before he narrows his eyes.

Kenma can just _feel_ the headache double in size behind his eyes.

“I don’t have a receipt,” the man grits out after a pregnant pause, hand clenching into a fist on the counter. “The hell should I show you proof of my purchase if you’ve got it in your sales records, hah?”

“As you mentioned, it’s been months since you’ve purchased the game,” Kenma replies, “so a store like ours, which sells trash to our hard-working customers, might not retain digital sales records for months on end.”

A moment of silence, a few more seconds for the middle-aged man’s eyes to widen, and then—

_I hate Kuro,_ Kenma dully thinks, and raises a hand to massage his temple.

“Why you _little_ —”

“Please leave,” Kenma interjects, voice barely audible over the man’s outraged roar but acerbic all the same. “Your custom isn’t welcome here.”

“Get me the manager—”

“I _am_ the manager.”

There’s a moment, when the middle-aged man draws himself up to his full height, that Kenma almost reconsiders his words. He’s wrong and foul-mouthed, condescending to someone he likely thinks is a punk pretending to be someone _respectable_ —but the headache is far more of a nuisance than an irrationally irritated customer. “Thank you for your patronage,” Kenma says dully, gaze dropping to the counter as he kneads at his growing migraine—

And then his hand drops when a shadow abruptly falls over the corridor.

“Sir, I’ll have to ask that you leave the premises,” a hard voice says. “Violence is prohibited in the mall.”

“I have been _insulted_ by this fucking _upstart_ ,” the man hisses, finger almost stabbing Kenma’s nose as Kenma starts and glances up, “and you’re saying this is _my_ fault?”

“Be that as it may,” Kuroo replies with an expression Kenma’s never seen before, “you raised your hand against a staff member of our mall.”

Kuroo’s hand is white-knuckled around the man’s wrist, fingers visibly digging into his skin—but the man grunts, shakes off Kuroo’s hand and snatches up both casing and CD. “I hope the store goes _bankrupt_ ,” he spits as he stalks out, but Kuroo doesn’t turn back to Kenma until he’s well and truly gone.

Distantly, Kenma’s aware that he’s trembling—but it’s not until there’s a warm hand on his shoulder that he flinches back and wraps his arms around himself. It’s all too easy to fall back into old habits, hunching and lowering his face so that his hair brushes comfortingly against his cheeks…

But the hand doesn’t go away. There’s another hand on his other shoulder, a low voice talking to him, and—

“He’ll be fine,” Kenma hears through the static in his ears, “but thanks for your concern.”

Kenma peeks up to see the young woman nod and leave, followed by the person that’d been in the internet café, but it’s not until they’ve both left that he mutters, “Let go of me, Kuro.”

“Kenma?”

“I have a store to run,” Kenma directs to the counter, “and you have a mall to patrol.”

“That man almost _hit_ you—”

“And I shouldn’t have provoked him.”

Kuroo slowly closes his mouth, gaze unfathomable as he meets Kenma’s narrowed eyes—but Kenma moves first, stepping back so that Kuroo’s hands hover awkwardly in mid-air. “There will always be rude customers,” Kenma continues to direct at the counter, “and how they act will depend on what I do or say.”

Kenma digs his fingers into his elbows before he looks up at Kuroo again, but his face is expressionless and his voice is firm when he says, “I can take care of myself, Kuro.”

_I’ve grown up,_ he doesn’t add, but the way Kuroo’s mouth thins makes it clear that he’s received the message.

It’d be easy for Kuroo to call him out on his behaviour—the way he’d curled into himself when his attention had wavered, the way he’d shut down when the situation had caught up with him—but he only holds Kenma’s gaze for a few seconds before he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Go for a lunch break then, at the very least,” Kuroo tells him before he turns away, but Kenma doesn’t respond even as he ambles out.

Closing the store is familiar enough that the process is both soothing and automatic, and so is the short walk down to Akaashi’s bookstore. There are two or three customers inside, along with one of the three other employees Akaashi’s hired to help out during the week—but it’s Akaashi he’s looking for and Akaashi who takes one look at him before ushering him into the back.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do more than watch him sink into the couch before he hands a book over to Kenma—but Kenma nods back, and Akaashi gives him the faintest of smiles in return. His father would’ve made him hot chocolate while nattering on good-naturedly and his mother would’ve left him alone until he talked to her, but…

Kenma curls up on the couch, tucks the book between his knees and presses the heels of his hands to his burning, blurry eyes.

By the time Akaashi comes back in at the end of his shift, bearing a tray of sushi and a cup of pudding, Kenma’s dry-eyed and well into _The Hobbit_.  
  


* * *

**  
how is cram school going** , Kenma finds himself texting during a far less eventful shift, phone tucked beneath the counter and posture faintly slouched. Two of the personal trainers from the fourth-floor gym are having a _very_ enthusiastic Overwatch session in the internet café, if their yelling is anything to go by—but there’s nobody else to keep an eye on in the store.

It’s probably bad for business and it’s _definitely_ bad for all the bills he needs to pay—but the mall is a bustling place, and Kenma nods at Tsukishima as he passes by on his shift. He’s seen almost every employee in the mall by now, from the grizzled dentist responsible for Oikawa’s pearly whites to the _very_ enthusiastic part-timer who drops in to moon over games before his weekend shifts at the movie theatre, but the employee he sees the most is still—

_You have one unread message from **[Stupid Kuro]**._

_Speak of the devil,_ Kenma thinks with a little grimace, and slips his phone back into his pocket.

Living with Kuroo isn’t _bad_ , as far as roommates go—but his _chattiness_ is another matter entirely.

“I’d ask you what’s wrong,” a faintly amused voice says, “but you only look like that when a certain Pain-In-The-Ass Kuroo-san bothers you.”

Kenma starts ever so slightly, hands pressing a little harder against the counter, but Akaashi’s smile is a little wry when Kenma glances up at him. “You get this specific look whenever Kuroo-san talks to you,” Akaashi elaborates, when Kenma doesn’t respond. “It’s the first time I’ve seen it when he’s not around, but…”

Akaashi nudges his glasses up, turns to give the internet café a speaking look when one of the trainers yells a little too loudly, and turns to lean his back against the counter. “Bokuto’s relationship with Kuroo-san is his business,” Akaashi says without turning to look at Kenma, “and my relationship with Kuroo-san is mine.”

Kenma looks at the back of Akaashi’s head, eyebrows lightly furrowed and lips tugged into a slight frown—but Akaashi doesn’t turn around, and Kenma shifts his gaze to the front of the store. It’s been two months since he’s moved in with Kuroo, a little less since he’d reacquainted himself with Akaashi and just over a month since he’d borrowed Akaashi’s copy of _The Hobbit_ , but…

“It’s nothing,” Kenma mumbles, before he takes a deep breath and adds, “Kuro’s always a bother, whether he’s here or not.”

Akaashi turns at that, one brow arched, but it only takes a moment for him to snort and return his attention to the front of the store.

“Like a needy cat,” Akaashi replies softly—so softly that Kenma almost misses it.

But Kenma hears it. The snort bubbles out of him before he can help himself, a small noise that Akaashi catches—

And when Tsukishima passes by the store again, Kenma is too busy having a quiet but spirited discussion about _Animal Crossing_ with Akaashi to pay him any mind.  
  


* * *

  
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“I’ll be fine, Kuro.”

“Akaashi’s going to be off in an hour—and I know that annoying owl’s prepping for tomorrow, but he could walk you there before coming back for his bae—”

“I can’t believe you just said that aloud,” Kenma mutters under his breath—but when Kuroo stops mid-word, eyebrows scrunched together and gaze radiating concern, Kenma sighs before loudly saying, “For the fifth time, Kuro—I’ll be _fine_.”

“But it’s dark outside—”

“And you call _me_ a mother.”

Kuroo’s jaw clicks shut at that, hands twitching at his sides, but Kenma picks up his bag and resets the store’s alarm with sharp, jerky movements. “You have a job to do,” Kenma says without looking at Kuroo again, locking the store behind him and making for the escalators, “so go _do_ it.”

And though Kuroo tries to protest, reaching forward to snag Kenma’s elbow—Kenma shakes him off, quickens his pace, and leaves Kuroo behind.

He knows that Kuroo could catch up, if he wanted to—Kenma’s barely up to his _chin_ , for all that he’d grown a little more in his senior year, and Kuroo’s far fitter than Kenma will ever be. There’s a moment, when he’s getting off the escalator, that Kenma almost looks back…

But it’s like what he told Hinata all those weeks ago. It’s what Kuroo’s forgetting—what he should’ve _never_ forgotten—because Tokyo may be a little darker at night, but it’s still _Tokyo._ In all the years he’d lived in the city, with all the times he’s had to commute after the sun went down, how many times had he been mugged? Zero times.

How many times had people looked at him and thought, _I need to protect him because he’s weak?_

_Far too many,_ Kenma thinks, and begins the short walk home with a mumbled, “Stupid Kuro.”

There are a few people out and about, even though it’s well past dinner time and the mall has been shut for the better part of an hour. Kenma swerves around two drunk businessmen singing at the top of their lungs, lips twitching despite himself when one of them shouts something _very_ bawdy and almost falls on their face, but everyone else he meets is well-behaved.

Kenma finds himself sinking into thoughts of a hot shower—perhaps even a gaming marathon on the TV, since Kuroo won’t be home until mid-morning—and he’s just pondering whether there’s any microwaveable popcorn at home when he passes by a dimly-lit alleyway.

It’s an unremarkable one, under most circumstances, filled with garbage and the odd mean-eyed cat whenever Kenma glances into there.

But on this night, with his hair framing his cheeks and his posture a little slouched…

“Where’re you going so fast, little lady?” a rough voice asks from the alleyway, and Kenma only has a moment to widen his eyes before he’s _yanked_ into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn't catch it, here are the (newly) introduced characters' occupations:  
>  **Bokuto Koutarou:** owner of the 1st floor sushi store  
>  **Akaashi Keiji:** owner of the 2nd floor book store  
>  **Terushima Yuuji:** ???  
>  **Oikawa Tooru:** ???
> 
> ( and yes, I really did just end that on a cliffhanger. please... don't kill me...? )

**Author's Note:**

> For further author notes and other things related to this fic, feel free to check out my [blog](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/). Alternately, potential prompts and other sorts of inspiration can be found on my [Tumblr](https://chroku-n.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chroku_n/) if that tickles your fancy instead - or, if you'd like your own shiny new oneshot, you can request one from me [here](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/commissions/). If you'd rather chat with me and others who enjoy either my work or my company (or both) in a more private setting, though, you can also join my [multifandom Discord server](https://discord.gg/cQrS2bW).


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